


Shoulders

by hey_malarkey



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bathroom Humor, Incest, Literally lol, M/M, Scat, Stancest - Freeform, a few steps shy of getting caught w/ your pants down, early sailor days; ford keeps it to himself, he's got the hots for stan, one-sided stancest - Freeform, poophoria, shit fic, stan's arms and shoulders are irresistable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:13:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26718067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hey_malarkey/pseuds/hey_malarkey
Summary: There were two things Ford liked.Well, that was an oversimplification. There were many things he enjoyed or took delight in. But two specific things he took a special pleasure in. Two things that put an illicit thrill through him he couldn’t help but seek out.
Relationships: Ford Pines/Stan Pines
Kudos: 11





	Shoulders

There were two things Ford liked.

Well, that was an oversimplification. There were many things he enjoyed or took delight in. But two specific things he took a special pleasure in. Two things that put an illicit thrill through him he couldn’t help but seek out.

One was that sense of utter calm and drowsiness that only exhaustion and a good, long, satisfying poop can give you.

The other was seeing Stanley’s shoulders shudder and flex and ripple as he worked.

He’d discovered the first during college after a triple-all-nighter and too many cups of coffee and breakfast bars to sustain him leading up to a test.

The latter he’d re-discovered as they’d set sail across the world on the Stan-O-War II.

It wasn’t often Stan did work on deck without a shirt on, but as they’d sailed to fairer temperatures and smoother waters, Ford had seen more skin and more of Stan’s enormous muscles in motion about the ship.

Ford was exhausted. There’d been a particularly strong altercation with both an anomaly and the weather that day. The boat had been heaved through the waves, and the brothers along with it. Then at the peak of the storm they’d encountered the cause, a type of giant fish creature that was bringing the rain to discourage outsiders from sailing through its waters. Ford trying to pull a few scales to study and Stan punching it in the snout did not help matters.

But the brothers had made it through intact and hours later had sailed into friendlier territory. Stan immediately pulled out some line and went fishing, kicking back as soon as the chore of checking over their ship was done. Ford went below deck and to their wet room. He’d been repressing a need that made itself known as urgent at the first chance his body had once the danger had passed and he let himself relax.

He nearly doubled over as he entered the wet room, unbuckling his pants and sitting down heavily on the toilet. His stomach gurgled and he shifted his position. It unlocked something inside of him and he hunched over himself, arms resting on his half-clothed thighs as felt himself tense and relax rapidly.

It was automatic, it was natural, it was something he thankfully didn’t have to think about as he closed his eyes and shat. On a harder push he felt his thighs tense and shake slightly, but even then he didn’t open his eyes. He’d had a long day. And now he finally got to release all of that tension and tightness while also releasing the consequences of seven cups of coffee throughout the course of handling the storm and last night’s fish-and-beans-heavy dinner.

And it was a wonderful feeling. He hadn’t the time to go at all today, not once with all of the panic or the chaos. But for right now he knew he was in a safe location, an enclosed space below deck and there was no threat looming over him. It was freeing, peaceful, it was even a little warm, and he was half-asleep where he sat.

About half an hour later he jerked awake and looked around, immediately embarrassed. He stood and hustled out of the bathroom, yanking his pants up and feeling the slight burn on his thighs as his skin tried to keep sticking to the seat. He tried to determine if Stan had noticed why he was quiet for so long. He peeked up on deck and saw Stan whistling a tune as he still sat with the pole resting loosely in his hands. He took a moment to admire the wind blew his brother’s growing hair across his shoulders before ducking back down to sit at the desk they’d nailed in one corner for him to work.

He sat there for most of the rest of the night until Stan made dinner and they went to bed. He didn’t think about how long he spent in the bathroom, or the critical step he’d forgotten in his embarrassment and haste of leaving.

Until the next morning, that is.

Ford stretched and stood, planting his feet on the ground and turning to find his boots. It was late morning if the way the sun was streaming in was anything to go by. He got dressed but didn’t see Stan. Amazingly, his brother seemed to have woken up before him. That’s when he heard it. A strange sort of _swooshing_ sound followed by a few thumps and light cursing. Curious, he followed the sounds and came upon the entry to the wet room.

By its nature the room was only really big enough for one of them at a time. So Ford stopped short of the doorway and looked in. What he saw was Stan’s massive arms straining and flexing and pulsing with muscle and vitality as he stood over the toilet. He heard his brother curse again and pull back for a second, wiping sweat with the back of his hand off his forehead.

Stan was still in his nightclothes—that is to say, he was wearing his boxers. It had been a toss-up recently if Stan wore his dirty old tank. Usually at the end of the day he shucked all of his layers and fell into bed (strategically aiming for his back pillow) and snoring right away. It looked like Stan had done the same last night as well.

Stan leaned back over the toilet and got a grip on what Ford assumed was the plunger. He watched as Stan toggled the handle of the toilet and heard a sound that was most definitely _not_ flushing. Stan sighed and pushed down. Ford was fascinated with the amount of force his brother must be exerting. He could see Stan’s arm muscles flexing and rippling as he brought his arms up and down, plunging deep and thrusting up.

It was so unexpectedly hot, hearing his brother murmuring and cursing and watching his body move as he grappled with whatever was clogging it. Ford couldn’t stop staring at Stanley’s shoulders. They moved so strongly, so sure. Ford was so enraptured he jumped when he heard Stan suddenly let out a loud shout.

“Got it! You piece of crap,” he said and kicked the side of it, setting the plunger on its stand behind the toilet. Stan started pulling down his boxers and Ford moved away from the door as he saw his brother about to turn. He didn’t want to be caught staring. He didn’t move far, just to the kitchen where he started a new pot of coffee and was able to calm himself down.

A few minutes later Stan stomped into the kitchen, dressed and ready. Ford barely had a moment to mourn the cloth covering his brother’s broad shoulders before Stan was in front of him, taking the coffee from his hand.

“Hey, wait, that was mine, Stanley,” Ford said, his brows furrowing.

“Nuh-uh, Sixer. This is my reward for putting up with your crap.” Stan took a swig of coffee and Ford watched his Adam’s apple bob. “Next time you clog the toilet, fix it yourself!” Stan said heading up on deck.

Ford felt his face flush at his brother’s words, unsure if he intended to make that pun, but embarrassed all the same. He took a moment while pouring out another cup of coffee to mentally relive watching Stanley as he had been this morning. He joined his brother, face still red, and half-hoping for another day like yesterday to come again. As exhausting as it was, it brought his favorite things together.

**Author's Note:**

> A friend asked me to post this on here because tumblr possibly ate the first version. Hope y'all enjoy! Thanks for reading :D


End file.
